


Human

by gameboysandsextoys



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Psychological Torture, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gameboysandsextoys/pseuds/gameboysandsextoys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A captive of the Dreadfort has little to hope for, especially those in the hands of Roose Bolton's feral bastard. Theon sees that any hope of escaping with his life from the clutches of this evil man are foolish. He must learn his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human

Even the air seared his lungs as he panted, strung up upon the dark, roughly-hewn wood. The manacles that kept him pinned there chafed at the sensitive skin on the about his wrist. At first it has only been irksome, but now dried blood caked there and every time he moved, crimson flowed anew. Theon had been stupid back then, so utterly _stupid._ Thinking he could escape, or that he could strike some deal with his captors, was foolish. His high borne blood made no difference down here in the dark, in the stink. Lord Ramsay made sure to remind him of what such insolence would cost him. And he had paid for his crimes in secrets and in screams, in fingers and in toes. Still there was life left in him, there was hope. _I am Ironborn, a kraken of the deep, borne of the sea._ It served as a mantra, a sense of inspiration and vitality for Theon as he slumped against his fetters. His head was throbbing noisily, each heavy _thump_ addled the contents of his skull so painfully he winced. Flinty gaze was cloaked from view as Theon pressed his eyelids forcefully together, willing his surroundings away with every ounce of strength he had left. 

 

His tongue was swollen in his mouth, stuccoed to the roof of his mouth with drying saliva. Theon had been without water for some time, days it seemed, though in actuality it had been only thirty hours or so. Ramsay made sure his gaolers administered nourishment in prolonged increments, the last thing he needed was the Greyjoy heir perishing in his own halls on a fluke. Of this, Theon was unaware, all he was aware of was the aching pain all about his body and the screaming of the little finger on his right hand. The flesh had been flayed, in increments of course, it was unlike Lord Ramsay to grant such niceities as relieving him of the appendage. The flesh had cracked and dried in the days since the flesh had been peeled away. The muscle beneath was black, the open wound festering slowly and the pain ever present. Even after hours and days, Theon still trembled from the excruciating degree of the hurt. Initially, the tears had flowed from his eyes and mucous from his nose, his throat raw from his screaming, from his pleading. Though even at the end of it all, Ramsay had not relieved him, and preferred instead to let Theon dwell in agony until his Lordship returned. 

 

Theon Greyjoy was silent now. His chin was heavy on his chest, the strength to keep in upright no longer in him. The man only slumped, each breath a torment as his skin shuddered from the overwhelming overload of pain. _You are Balon Greyjoy's only living heir._ A voice seemed to remind him, desperate in this state of disrepair. Theon felt an old man, bent and broken, dissuading his thoughts with doubts from the opposite corner of his mind. _What is dead may never die!_ His eyelashes fluttered beneath his dirty crop of dark hair, eyelids of lead tugged upward ever so carefully. _But rises again harder, and stronger!_ A deflated sense of pride swelled again in his chest as his tongue flickered over his cracked lips, though he moved much slower than he might have otherwise. Onyx eyes rounded his chambers, taking in the Bolton holdings with what little refreshed vigor bought him in the belly of the Dreadfort. The distant scraping of metal upon metal caused Theon to recoil once more, all the confidence vacuumed from his chest. He was shockingly aware of what that might bring.

 

Ramsay's steps were heavy, measured as he sauntered haughtily down the corridor, a smirk smeared sloppily on plush lips. A song was light on his lips as he whistled, the jovial tune terribly foreboding as he rounded a bend in the walkway, pale eyes steady on the leaden door at the end of the hall. Deft fingertips lovingly ran the length of the heavy iron key before he thrust the end into the matching keyhole. Ramsay flicked his wrist, releasing the lock with little effort. He shouldered the door from its frame with a groan from the hinges, the sound harsh and grating against the silence that enveloped the chamber. Theon could feel the fear creeping up his spine, clawing her nails deep in his sallow flesh before whispering, wordless, in his ear. _He is coming._ The man had come to learn the fast shuffle of Ribb, the gaoler in his keeping. He scuttled from one cell to the next, never speaking, simply doing his duty. Theon had offered his money, land, titles, women… but nothing swayed him, his dark eyes never even flickered toward the captive. Surely, he had been trained by Ramsay as well; he had been taught the price of betrayal in Bolton fashion. 

 

Thin lips quivered, the fear thick on his tongue as the brutish man swaggered into dank tomb, a grin done up on his heavy features. His pale eyes danced, even in the half-light, an aggressive sort of inspiration he could hardly seem to keep to himself. **_"I have missed you!"_** He blurted, as he idled across from his hostage, fingers twitching with anticipation. Immediately, Ramsay recoiled, as if embarrassed from his outburst, but Theon had come to learn that it was all planned, all deceit, _all a game._ Lips pursed, the once-bastard continued forward lazily until he was so close to the other man that the linen from his tunic ghosted along Theon's bruised flesh. The Greyjoy flinched instinctively, his flinty gaze downcast, but he could smell the sour notes of wine on Ramsay's breath all the same, felt the closeness of him, and it drove him mad. Theon wanted nothing more than to arp his fingers about the bastard neck, to squeeze until his pale eyes bulged and all the whimsy left his wormish lips. 

 

 _" **You will look at me when I speak to you."** _ There was no question in the way he spoke, no request. It had been an order. An _order_ from a bastard boy to the heir of the Iron Islands! Such boldness should have been punished, but Theon had a sinking suspicion that it would not. Perhaps none of Ramsay Snow's crimes would ever be held against him. Theon felt as though he might wretch.Fearing the ramifications of defying his captor further, his dark gaze trailed slowly upward, half lidded with exhaustion. The intensity that swam in the Northman's eyes always astounded him, and the kraken shrunk back against his fetters. **_"See? Much better."_** Ramsay quirked his head to the left, a grin renewed on his mouth, though there was something dark and twisting behind his falseness. _" **I feel like we can really get to know each other this way."**_ He chirped enthusiastically, unwilling to relieve Theon of their closeness. 

 

Wistfully, Ramsay raised his hand from where it hung limp it at his side examining his fingers as he made them dance in the still air. He pondered how to continue, how to punish his sweet captive. It was a careful process, breaking a man so proud, so bloated with birthrights and skill and power. Yet what use were words in war? It was action that won honor, that won _power_. And that, Ramsay had grasped with both both fists. His touch was tender as he brushed the sallow flesh before him with the calloused pad of his middle finger. Theon flinched again, though the touch was not entirely unpleasant. If it had been that of a lover, Theon would have yearned for it, but he new pain was coming, he felt it deep in his bones. Ramsay traced the pale lines of scar tissue where he had been kissed with a bullwhip, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and his mind far off. Theon dared not move, though his skin shuddered beneath each careful touch. 

 

 _ **"We're playing a different sort of game today, sweetling."** _ Ramsay purred between silent musings, his pale eyes downturned. A pang of fear struck Theon then, and he found himself unsure whether he wanted to know or not. Part of him was urged to ask, though the inquiry remained unsaid as Bolton's practiced fingers gripped Theon's cock through the roughspun wool, the smile suddenly wicked. Immediately, Theon yelped in response, a strangled sort of noise which made Ramsay's grin twitch higher. _**"Easy now, don't get too eager."** _ The bastard cooed mockingly, _**"We have other matters to attend to first."** _ The dread that twisted Theon's stomach incited a whimper from his lips, desperation in the sound. He was silently begging, pleading for any ounce of mercy. But Ramsay was uncharitable, and thrived on the suffering of others and his own sick indulgences. For the time, Theon was his favorite, and subject to the brunt of his torment. 

 

 _"No."_ The words had slipped accidentally from his lips, barely a whisper as fear shone in the darkness of his eyes. If Ramsay had not been standing so closely, he perhaps would have missed it, but at their proximity, the word had been caught quite clearly. **_"What?"_** His voice was soft, tamed, though fury threatened to brim over, to envelope the man completely. The rage fit comfortably, like an old leather jerkin, soft from use, but even as the red overtook him, Ramsay was careful not to loose a moment's consciousness, for he relished in it all. Reeling backward, the bastard dealt Theon a backhanded blow to his cheek, his knuckles split the skin asunder and crimson began to leak slowly from where their flesh had collided. The kraken couldn't contain the mewling that ghosted from his mouth, his sniveling was almost instinctual now that Bolton had managed to crack him. The fissures ran out along his entire body, it was only a matter of time until they became gaping chasms. 

 

Ramsay had a sort of laugh that sounded much like a bark, grating as it echoed off the walls of the high ceilinged chamber. A boulder of dread dropped in Theon's stomach at the sound, his lips trembling quite noticeably as he looked sullenly up from under his brow. _**"That was a very poor choice, Lord Theon."** _ His nimble fingertips found the bone hilt of his blade and he flickered it forth, reveling in the familiarity of the weight, of the feel. With a lofty smirk, Ramsay started forward from where he had retreated, pale eyes wide and dangerous. His gaze flickered from one finger to the next, unsure of which he would steal for himself once Theon begged for him to _cut it off_. Today would be his breaking point, one in which Theon would no longer be able to resist splintering completely. And in due time, he would be Reek.

 

Tears were heavy in his eyes as Ramsay set his focus on the ring finger of his left hand. His fingertips were warm as he pulled the digit away from the rest and pressed it firmly against the wood from which Theon hung. Dutifully, he raised the blade and pressed the sharpened edge against the bulge of flesh at the base of the appendage. Ever so carefully, he slipped the steel beneath a lip of skin, not yet slicing anything away. _" **Let's see how long you can go without screaming, hm?"**_ Ramsay quipped playfully as he forced the edge up the length of the finger in one quick swipe. The aggression with which Ramsay began startled Theon, and the shriek nearly ripped from his throat at that. He swallowed it down, lips trembling as the tears dripped down over his cheeks, chest shuddering as the sobs blubbered up from inside. 

 

 _ **"Stop squirming."** _ Ramsay snapped, pale eyes intent on his task  as he began to cut away at the membrane between muscle and skin. Blood was beginning to weep from the wound, and fell in intermittent drops onto Ramsay's hand. Only as he began to peel the skin back did Theon's resolve snap and a scream tore from his throat and his entire body shivering wildly.  **_"You lost so quickly this time."_ ** The bastard mumbled as he cut back more flesh, the muscle beneath a garish red. Again Ramsay recoiled, letting the skin hang and the open wound breathe the sour air of the dungeon. 

 

The pain was outrageous as the bastard's blade encompassed his finger in flames. The flesh was searing, torment so potent he couldn't keep himself from shrieking until his throat was raw and Ramsay had pulled his knife away. Still the muscle twitched in the open air, the exposure overwhelming for flesh that had been ever cloaked in skin. His chest was heaving as he sobbed, the gasps threatened to turn into screams once more. Tears and snot leaked down across his face, his lean features skewed up in a tortured grimace. _"P-please."_ He wailed, _"Please, my lord, forgive me."_ With fingers marred with red, Ramsay snatched for Theon's chin, painting his cheeks with blood, as he forced his head about so he could relish in the fear reflected in the eyes of his captor. 

 

 _ **"You shall be forgiven in time, my dear."** _ He replied coolly, soothingly, as a lover consoling the other. _" **But now, you must be punished."** _ It was the mocking sadness in the words that truly tore at Theon's resolve. His expression crumpled as Ramsay refused to release his vice grip, but rather leaned forward to place a chaste kiss near the corner of his mouth, an adoring gesture in the wake of such misery. _**"I must confess."** _ Ramsay purred enticingly, the words were as syrup, dripping heavy from his lips. He tilted his head to brush his mouth against the shell of the other man's ear, coaxing him closer, _" **Your screaming nearly has me hard."** _ Further convincing him, Ramsay moaned gutturally through clenched teeth, the muscles straining along his neck. Theon whimpered at that, forcing his eyes shut despite the warning he had received earlier, though Ramsay seemed unbothered. 

 

Ramsay loosed his hold then and turned his blade again to the appendage leaking blood. With one hand squeezing the loose skin, the other cut at the film that attached it to the muscle. Bolton worked quickly, having years of practice fueling each measured movement, each cut, each slice. Though he willed them not to, the screams continued to spring forth from behind cracked lips, fire swallowing him completely once more. _"Cut it off, CUT IT OFF!"_ He heard himself wail between jarring sobs, already the game had been lost. But in games of Lord Ramsay's creation, no one ever won but he, himself. The bastard finally pulled the scrap of flesh away, it was limp and dripping with blood between his similarly marred fingertips. It was a prize, a token of his victory. He would boil it to keep as a small scrap of leather, finger the ribs and the corners as he pleasured himself, or had one of his bed warmers do so with their mouth. He would recall the shrieks and the look screwed up on Theon's face, the squelch of blood where the knife had kissed flesh and the slow _drip, drip_ of the blood trickling from the removed skin. He would remember and climax, breathlessly, trembling from the residual effects of the orgasm.

 

Even as Ramsay retreated to examine his token, Theon blubbered, his weight tugging at the restraints as he slumped there. He was caught in a haze of misery, unable to perceive anything other than the claws that dug into his finger and up his arm, the flames that licked the flesh, the constant gnawing of an invisible beast. Theon whimpered, lips trembling as his muscles convulsed wildly, it shook the rack accordingly, to which Ramsay glanced up. Theon forced his eyelids apart, his vision blurry, the pain disorienting. The bastard swooped to pick up the ring of keys from the floor where they had been earlier discarded, and moved to release the fetters about Theon's left foot. He followed suit with the right, and then with both hands, to which Theon collapsed on the floor. The stone was frigid and unforgiving, but any relief from being strung up for so many endless hours was graciously welcomed. 

 

Fleshy fingers threaded through his dark hair and wrenched it backward. Ramsay smirked downward, his arousal straining at his breeches as he twisted his wrist, grip unyielding. _"Please."_ Theon begged, the tears running anew, brows knotted thick under his mop of bangs. The recollection of the first time Ramsay had taken him was stained in his mind, though Theon repressed it with every ounce of his willpower. He had been paraded through the castle in manacles and rags to Lord Ramsay's chambers, where he was forcefully taught how to pleasure his lord with his mouth. He had nearly suffocated from the bastard thrusting his cock down into his throat, and had to will himself not to wretch upon the floor once the semen shot over his tongue and he was painfully instructed to swallow. What came next had been worse, the aggressive fucking was nearly as painful as the torture itself, and twice as humiliating. Ramsay murmured softly into his ear all the while, telling him how pretty he was, and what a nice whore he would make in King's Landing. 

 

Ramsay seemed more intent on getting his fill as he moved to unlace his breeches with one hand, forcing the fabric down and away until his cock sprung free, thick and bulbous. The smirk never faltered from his mouth as he did so; his lordship prided himself in matters of bedding, and quite liked to share his skills. Such treatment was awarded for good behavior, or whenever Ramsay chose to made it so. With a considerable amount of force, Bolton slammed Theon's face into the stone so hard that sunbursts flashed in his eyes. The kraken only yelped and writhed beneath his fist; he wasn't willing to risk denying him and further incite his anger. Eagerly, his hands tore away the fabric clinging to his captive's waist, leaving Theon exposed and pinned to the ground. Ramsay knelt behind him, pressing his erection against the curve of his ass as he bent over the other man to sink his teeth into the hollow of his neck. The force with which he bit was enough for Theon to choke out another pained sob, which twisted into a yelp. When he finally pulled away, a blotchy mark remained, garish red, which marked him as Ramsay's. 

 

 _ **"You ask for this, don't you realize?"** _ He breathed in hushed tones, an eerie smile stretched wide on his mouth. _**"The screaming, and the pleading…"** _ Ramsay broke off in a strangled moan, shifting his hips forward to tease his rear with the head of his manhood. **_"I have no choice but to address it."_** With that, he pressed his cock where the cheeks parted, and up into him as he would a woman. There was no lubrication, but Ramsay was eager enough not to care, it was Theon who suffered. As his captor forced himself inside, Theon inhaled a shaky breath, the sickeningly familiar sensation tore at his backside, and felt as though he were being split in two.  A shout shook from his throat as the tears slid down to puddle on the stone; gravel and blood swirled on his tongue, though Theon was unsure whether he had bit himself in the struggle or if the floor of the chamber was dried with that of others.

 

The glorious pressure that encompassed his cock was addictive; Ramsay groaned as he forced himself completely into the other man. He was tight, _magnificently_ so; if he hadn't been experienced in the art of fucking, he might have ejaculated right away. Without heeding the amount of misery Theon was in, Ramsay began to pump his hips, forward and back, slowly at first, but with increasing speed. His palms were beaded with sweat as he clutched Theon's hips with one hand, and tightened his grip about a fistful of his dark hair, further pressing him into the roughness of the stone floor. Theon's dark eyes were wild as he fought beneath his lord's iron grasp, trying ever so desperately to wriggle away, though Ramsay's strength superseded his own, and he remained firmly in place. The once prince began to weep openly then, his chest heaving and tears streaming as he forced his eyes shut. His left hand was twitching, yet with each convulsion pain rippled from the tip of his flayed finger all the way to his shoulder in a strike of agony. Theon had never been so miserable in all his life. 

 

Meanwhile, Ramsay was near the brink of climax. His sallow flesh had burst anew with splotches of vivid pink, and pebbles of sweat were beginning to collect at the edge of his hairline. Ragged breaths were expelled from his mouth in intermittent gusts, still thick with the scent of the dark Dornish wine he favored. The godly writhing in his groin was threatening to spill over as he leaned down over Theon's spine to plant a trail of soft kisses. Every few thrusts he would sink his pale incisors into the lean flesh and refuse to release his grip until blood loosed beneath his bite and Theon shrieked for him to stop. It was that which threw Ramsay from the summit of his self-control and instead allowed the orgasm to tear through him. He moaned gutturally, something beastly that resounded off the walls and echoed even after his voice had died. The hand threaded in Theon's hair tightened dramatically, which siphoned a pained hiss from the man. Ramsay's entire body was trembling as his pace began to slow, and semen had stopped spitting from the tip of his cock. 

 

Breathless and elated, Ramsay shoved Theon's limp form away from him as he stood and flopped his flaccid penis back into his breeches. He pulled the laces taught and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, flicking it away with a flourish. All the while his pale eyes studied his captive, who remained a puddle where Ramsay had discarded him. The pain was everywhere all at once, though nothing compared to the violent throbbing in Theon's freshly flayed finger. There were no words in his throat, not a thought in his mind, everything was white, brilliantly excrutiating as his muscles convulsed on their own accord. It was then that he wished for death's sweet kiss above all the others. Before he had dreamed of survival, of returning to the Iron Islands, of living his remaining years by the sea. The hope had waned with each new day, but it was then, as tears leaked from his eyes, an his body gave up the fight that Theon knew he would spend the rest of his miserable life in the clutches of this man. No, not a man, _a beast in human skin._  

 

The desperation was thick about him, as Ramsay knelt beside him, his chin poised between the bastard's thumb and forefinger. Theon's dark eyes lolled in the back of his head, he could hardly concentrate on the face floating so closely to his own, it was all a blur of grey and white. _" **You did well, pet."**_ He heard the man echo, though his voice was far off. _" **You have pleased me, and for that, I will reward you."** _ Dread coiling in Theon's belly at that, but stilled all at once as Ramsay continued. **_"I am sending my maester to see to you, to treat all but the finger I've just flayed. He will give you water and food, and you shall have a proper cell without being strung up on the rack."_** Theon could only nod, though agony twisted within him. _Just let me die._ His thoughts echoed, but he knew Ramsay would expect thanks.

 

 _"My lord…"_ Theon spoke in hushed tones, _"Thank you my lord, thank you."_ A sickening smile slithered up onto his brutish features at that, and pride shone brightly in his eyes. **_"Very good. I have one final request for you before I grant you such kindness."_** His tone wavered with excitement which made Theon cringe, but he replied all the same. _"Anything."_ Theon blurted, he was already salivating with the promise of water, of food. **_"Learn your name."_** The request took Theon Greyjoy off guard, he knew his name. He was Theon of the Pyke, heir to the Iron Islands, last living son of Balon Greyjoy. He was a kraken of the deep. Yet he had learned better than that in his time here, so instead his voice quivered, " _My l-lord?"_ His tone basked in the confusion that addled him, and Ramsay leaned close then, his voice a whisper curling with wickedness.

 

**_"Reek."_ **


End file.
